Foreign Affairs (57 page)

‘Please come back. Bryan was drunk. It won’t happen again,’ Gillian pleaded. Jennifer felt torn. She knew that the other woman had genuinely depended on her. It had been fine
when they were there on their own. But the thought of seeing Bryan Curtis again made her feel nauseous.

‘I’m sorry, Gillian, I can’t,’ she said contritely.

‘Please, Jennifer.’ The familiar breathless voice floated down the line. In the background, a harsh loud voice slurred.

‘Tell that stuck-up little virgin to go to hell. She’s not setting foot under my roof again.’ It was Bryan, obviously drunk.

‘Goodbye, Gillian,’ Jennifer said gently and hung up. She felt sorry for the woman. The decision had been made for her. Bryan evidently had no desire to see her again. The feeling
was mutual, Jennifer scowled. She was well out of it.

‘Come on, our flight’s been called.’ Charlotte rushed over to her.

Twenty-five minutes later they were heading north towards Malaga, and the lights of Majorca were disappearing into the inky night.

The first thing she was going to do when she got settled was to call Ronan in New York to give him her new address. After that, she’d call her family. Jennifer peered out into the
pitch-black sky. It was only a short flight to the mainland. Would they get a job easily? Would Conchita’s cousin have an apartment free? Edificio Rosa sounded like a nice name for the
building. They had barely levelled out after fifteen minutes of flight when Jennifer felt the plane begin its descent towards Malaga Airport. Excitement and apprehension created little knots in her
stomach as the plane lost height steadily.

Charlotte winked at her. ‘Free at last,’ she laughed. ‘Things can only get better.’

‘Absolutely,’ Jennifer agreed. If she didn’t like the Costa del Sol, she didn’t have to stay there. She could always go home. But if she liked it, she might stay a month,
or six months. She was as free as a bird, she thought happily, she might as well make the most of it. Beneath her she could see the long curve of Spain’s southern coast, its lights twinkling
in the darkness. Excitement overtook her. She was dying to see what was in store for them.

Chapter Fifty

Jennifer was almost sick with excitement as she saw the bus from Madrid, dusty and grimy, pull into the terminus. It was nearly a year since she’d seen Ronan and she
couldn’t wait to fling herself into his arms and hug the daylights out of him. She’d been living for this moment since last November when he’d phoned her and told her he’d
come and spend two weeks in Spain with her.

If anyone had told her that she would spend a year away from home working on the Costa del Sol, she’d have said they were mad. But that was exactly what she’d done, Jennifer thought
happily, watching the bus manoeuvre into position. After the flight out of Majorca, as she and Charlotte called it, they had got jobs in an English-owned restaurant and bar called the Cock &
Bull. Jennifer loved it. It was hectically busy, but the tips were good and she was having the time of her life. She enjoyed dealing with the customers, mostly English and Irish tourists. Her
social life was frantic. She’d really come out of her shell and was enjoying the feeling of being completely independent for the first time in her life.

Ronan had written to her a month after she’d arrived on the mainland, to tell her that he was dropping out of Bolton Street Tech and was staying in America to study computers. Jennifer
decided there and then that she was going to stay in Spain for a year. She’d got her exam results, three honours and passes in the rest of her subjects. Nothing spectacular like Paula’s
five honours. She didn’t want to go home and join the civil service or the Corporation. Jennifer just didn’t want to go home if Ronan wasn’t going to be there.

Naturally, her parents were not pleased by her decision. Stern phone calls were made by Jim and Kit, who told her to come home and get a proper job. Or go and study for another year, like Paula
was going to. She wasn’t to be acting like some sort of hippie, Jim declared. It was much easier for Jennifer to be firm from a distance. She told her mother that she was now fluent in
Spanish, and that a French waiter was teaching her French. She’d be as fluent as Paula would ever be after her language courses.

‘I’ll just stay a year,’ she promised. ‘And then we’ll see.’

‘We’ll see nothing,’ growled her father. ‘You just get yourself home before Christmas, Miss, and settle down. I’ve a good mind to go down to that head nun of yours
and eat the face off her for putting ideas in your head.’

Her father’s disapproval only increased her resolve to stay. She couldn’t be bothered going home to a load of hassle about getting a job. She was making good money in Spain, her
languages were improving a hundred-fold. She had no-one telling her what to do. Go home! Not on your life! Jennifer told Ronan in one of her letters.

You stick to your guns and I’ll stick to mine, he’d written encouragingly. They wrote to each other twice a week and phoned each other once a month. When he’d suggested coming
for a holiday the following summer, Jennifer was delighted. No way now was she going home. Not even for Christmas. If she went home for Christmas, she knew her father would not be in favour of her
going back to Spain. If she insisted on going there’d be a huge row. Jennifer didn’t want that. So, when December came, she phoned home to say that the restaurant and bar would be open
Christmas Day, for all their British customers who wintered on the Costa. She couldn’t get time off.

Her father wouldn’t speak to her on the phone for a month after that. Kit was more understanding. Brenda told her she was being selfish. Paula called her a lucky sucker and Beth told her
on no account was she to come home, the weather was terrible and everyone had colds and flu.

The winter months had been pleasant enough on the south coast of Spain. The intense heat of the summer gave way to balmy warmth although at times it lashed rain. There were some ferocious storms
with fork and sheet lightning, the likes of which Jennifer had never seen before. Mostly though, the weather was fine and, because they didn’t have to work the long hours they’d had to
during high season, Charlotte and Jennifer were able to spend some time travelling the 300 mile coast that stretched from Almeria down to Gibraltar. They sampled the sophisticated elegance of
Marbella and Puerto Banus, gazing with unadulterated envy at the huge yachts in the marinas. They window-shopped in the expensive boutiques which sold only the most exclusive labels. Jennifer
enjoyed sightseeing in the jetsetter’s paradise but she really loved the pretty, unspoilt Andalusian villages with their whitewashed haciendas and villas set amidst beautiful orange
groves.

She wrote and described every excursion to Ronan. Soon she’d be able to bring him to those places herself, Jennifer thought happily as the bus finally drew to a halt. Discreetly she
sprayed some
Apple Blossom
on her neck and wrists. She felt a little shy now that it was time to see Ronan. It had been a scorcher of a day, but as the sun started to dip in the sky a
light breeze had blown up. Jennifer was relieved. The last thing she wanted was for Ronan to see her all hot and bothered and sweaty.

She saw Ronan before he saw her. Jennifer stared at him. He had changed so much. He’d been gaunt and lanky and skinny that last day when she held him close in Dublin Airport. The Ronan who
got off the bus was broad and muscular, and very tanned and fit-looking. His wide hazel eyes hadn’t changed though. He looked at her, smiled that old familiar lopsided smile, and his eyes
crinkled up in that much-loved way.

‘Ronan, Ronan,’ she said joyfully and threw her arms around him, laughing with happiness as he lifted her up in the air.

‘Ah Jenny! You look beautiful. I’ve missed you so much. I thought I’d never get here.’ They kissed eagerly.

‘I can’t believe you’re here,’ Jennifer said breathlessly, as she drew away from him and stroked a finger down the side of his cheek.

‘Me neither.’ Ronan hugged her again.

‘You’ve changed so much.’ She smiled. ‘You look . . . so . . . so healthy.’

‘Well fed, you mean.’ Ronan laughed. ‘The food’s so good over there I had to join a gym to work out or else I’d be a right pudding.’

‘I hope you’ll like Spanish food,’ Jennifer said.

‘You know me, Jenny, I’d eat anything. And right now I’d even eat one of my ex-landlady’s Irish Stews. I’m starving.’

‘Come on,’ Jennifer grinned. ‘I know this gorgeous little seafood restaurant, even you won’t be able to finish what’s on your plate.’

‘Want to bet?’ Ronan scoffed.

They lingered over the delicious meal, delighted to be together again. It was wonderful to be able to tell each other all their news instead of having to put it in a letter. It was nearing
midnight before they eventually got back to Edificio Rosa, Jennifer’s apartment block.

‘Are you sure your friend doesn’t mind me staying?’ Ronan asked.

‘Charlotte! Are you joking?’ Jennifer retorted. ‘She’s always having visitors. You’re my first one. And anyway,’ she added shyly, ‘if it’s OK with
you, you’ll be sharing my room. I’ve made up a camp bed.’

‘Look, Jenny, I’ll sleep out in the lounge on a couch, I don’t want to put you out or make you feel uncomfortable,’ Ronan said earnestly.

‘You won’t. You’d never get a wink of sleep in the lounge, Charlotte keeps very late hours, and anyway I’d like you to share my room.’ Jennifer blushed.

‘I’d like that too, very much.’ Ronan drew her into his arms and kissed her lightly.

‘Well that’s settled then,’ Jennifer said briskly. If her parents knew she was sleeping in the same room as a fella they’d go spare, she thought a little guiltily. But
she didn’t want Ronan sleeping on the sofa, it was far too short for his long frame. And besides, she wanted to be with him, she wanted them to become closer, more intimate. Through their
letters to each other they had come to know each other’s innermost thoughts. Their letters were written from the heart. They hid nothing from each other. They shared their ups and downs. And
now that he was here with her, she didn’t want to be shy and silly. She wanted to be as comfortable with him in the flesh as she felt when she wrote to him.

‘This is very nice.’ Ronan looked around approvingly as she led him into their second-floor apartment.

‘I like it,’ she agreed. ‘I like its simplicity.’

The lounge dining-area was an L-shape. Painted white, in the Mediterranean tradition. It was a cool haven from the scorching heat of summer. The furniture was pine. A pine bookcase and sideboard
lined one wall. A long, tweedy sort of sofa, covered in gay rugs and cushions, was placed along the other. Two old armchairs that had seen better days were placed one on each side of the huge
french windows that led to a small balcony. Because they were on the second floor and on an incline, they were able to see the sea in the distance, over the rooftops of the apartment blocks across
the street. It certainly didn’t compare with the magnificence of the view in Santa Juan but Jennifer didn’t mind. She was far happier here on the Costa than she’d been with the
Curtises.

The alcove at the other end of the room contained a pine dining table and four chairs. These were supplemented with the white chairs from the balcony when there were more than four for dinner.
The floor throughout the apartment was tiled and very easy to keep clean. There was no clutter. And much to Jennifer’s joy, dusting and polishing were kept to a minimum. Often, she thought
back to Saturday mornings at home and all that dusting and polishing of her mother’s brasses and ornaments which took a whole morning’s attention. The only ornament she and Charlotte
had was a faintly lopsided candelabra with white candles in it, for use on the frequent occasions when the electricity went off due to thunderstorms.

While she had no time for ornaments, Jennifer was a sucker for paintings. Landscapes and seascapes mostly. She’d bought paintings of little Andalusian villages. Paintings of purple-pink
bougainvillaea tumbling over the wrought-iron balconies of green shuttered windows. Paintings of whitewashed village chapels. Of boats fishing in the pearly mists of dawn and the flaming seas of
sunset. Her favourite was of an old fisherman mending his nets in a small fishing village with the splendour of the Sierra Nevada behind him. This was the real Spain, not the gaudy neon-lit
high-rise tourist town where she lived and worked. Charlotte teased her when she arrived home with a new painting, but Jennifer knew that when the time did come for her to leave the Costa, her
paintings would always have the power to bring back the happiest memories of her life in Spain.

‘You’ve quite an art gallery, now,’ Ronan commented as he studied her collection. He, of course, knew all about them. Jennifer had written and described every one of her
acquisitions.

‘There’s more in the bedroom.’ She laughed leading him down the hall, past the small kitchen, to the bedroom. The pretty room was a study in simplicity. Her small divan, with
its colourful spread which matched the curtains, was under the window so that she could see the sea on waking. A white chest of drawers and wardrobe unit was the only other piece of furniture. A
vase of wild roses on the windowsill, a vivid splash of colour against the white. The camp bed, neatly made up, was placed beside her own bed.

‘No wonder you don’t want to go home. Who’d want to face our wild winters and draughty houses after this?’

‘I’ll have to go sometime.’ She sighed. ‘I’ll be nineteen in another couple of weeks. I suppose I’ll have to go and get a “proper job,” as my dad
calls it. I can’t be a waitress in Spain all my life.’

‘I’ve been checking out the situation at home.’ Ronan put his arms around her. ‘I’m not going to have any trouble getting a job there. Everyone is looking for
experienced computer people. Dropping out of Bolton Street and going into computers in America was the best thing I could ever have done. Another year there and I’ll be able to pick and
choose,’ he said confidently.

‘That’s brilliant, Ronan. You deserve everything you get, you’ve worked so hard for it.’