Like One of the Family (27 page)

Claire glanced over to where Jane was dozing under an umbrella, the most relaxed Claire had ever seen her. Of Sheena there was no sign. Claire suspected she was dallying with one of the young waiters. Now that Sheena had a whole range of handsome young Spaniards to captivate, the lads at home had been quickly forgotten.

With everyone, especially Ruthie, happily occupied, Claire felt free to start working her way through the pile of novels she had brought with her. She lifted her feet back up on to the metal rung of her sun-chair and, gently rocking, was soon absorbed in her book.

Ruthie giggled in high glee as the beach ball shot past Adela and landed with a soft plop on a snoozing sun-bather.

‘Butterfingers, Adela,' she reproved her friend and the other little girls fell about laughing uproariously.

‘Buttherfeeng-airs,' they cried joyously.

Jane opened her eyes and propped herself higher to watch their antics. Wonderful to see her so happy, Jane thought with gratitude. It had been a good decision to come away like this to the sun.

The trip had worked out expensive, almost double what a camping holiday in France would have cost them, but remembering the summer holiday she had once shared with Annette Shannon while still at college so many years before, she had opted for Spain. She had even chosen the same area in Nerja, near El Balcon de Europa. This return trip was to be in the nature of a pilgrimage to the scenes of her youth.

She suddenly decided she would take a stroll through the town. Once there, she might stop at an open-air cafe and sip a leisurely
café con leche.

She swung her legs off the sun-bed and, crossing to where Claire sat by the pool, asked her to keep an eye on Ruthie while she was gone. ‘You can tell her I won't be long.'

‘Yes, of course,' Claire answered, angling her sun-chair so that she could more easily see and be seen by the little girl. ‘Enjoy your walk.'

Jane nodded. Always so conscientious, she thought with a pang as she moved on. Not like that scamp Sheena. She looked for her older daughter but she was nowhere to be seen. Off flirting, no doubt!

Jane strolled through the cool, plant-laden lobby. Ignacio was on the telephone and he nodded and smiled at her. Jane acknowledged his greeting with a wave of her hand and passed out into the sunshine again. She stood and adjusted her sun-hat, then set off down the hill towards the town.

It was siesta time and the shops were closed. One or two people sat outside the cafeterias finishing plates of
calamares
and salad. Jane wandered past them in the direction of El Balcon de Europa, the area that she and Annette had frequented most during their time in Nerja.

She crossed the road and stood looking down on the small cove. At first glance it seemed as though time had stood still. If it were not for the advertising billboards it could have been twenty years earlier. Groups of Spanish matrons sat on mats near the water; young children played on the sand; a cat poked its head out from behind an upturned fishing boat, one of a fleet of boats drawn up beyond the high water ridges.

Jane let her eyes travel across the beach to where the waves foamed high against the rocks. This tiny cove had been their favourite swimming spot, but it was years since she had swum in a foreign sea.

On impulse Jane started down the sandy steps, removing her sandals as she went. The sand was almost too hot to tread on barefoot and she hopped the last few yards, relieved to be so close to the water's edge.

The sea was as she remembered it, like tepid milk. She slowly paddled up and down, arms swinging, letting the memories wash over her like the waves gently lapping her ankles. It was to this beach that she had come with an attractive Spaniard late one sultry night after an evening spent dancing in a night-club. They had slipped naked into the water to cool off and floated, fingertips touching, buoyed up by the deep swell about the rocks. That night had been a mixture of pleasure and pain,

Jane's expression grew serious as she remembered how she had slipped away from Annette, secretly hoping that Antonio might declare his feelings for her if they were on their own. She had known him barely three months and knew very little about him, just that he owned several restaurants and came from somewhere north of Cadiz. Yet in spite of that and the difference in their nationalities and outlook, she would have said yes if he had asked her to marry him. Instead that night he had broken it to her that he already had a wife and child.

Jane hugged her arms to her chest, reliving her feelings of heart-break and shock. She couldn't remember exactly what had sparked off the confession. Perhaps some half-formulated wish as they had come running out of the sea, laughing and shivering, that she need never go home but might remain in Spain, sharing such moments for ever. In a few brief words he had taken away her hopes. Jane could still remember her feeling of disillusion, of being badly used, for she had given him her virginity only one short week after they had met.

Yet, in all honesty, Jane was forced to admit that in her besottedness she had enticed Antonio to the point where he could not resist her. In the beginning when he had hung back, she had mistaken his reticence for inexperience and deliberately kept alight the flame of his passion. She saw again his heavy-lidded eyes observing her with controlled ardour, until finally beyond all control, he had allowed the storm of his feelings master him, and she had been swept with him to a place no man had ever taken her since. Not her husband or any other man. Their affair had lasted until the night he had confessed that he was married. Two weeks later she had returned home, miserable and distraught. It had taken her months to get over him. Jane could still remember her feeling of sorrow and let-down after all this time.

Now she scooped up water in her hands and splashed it on her hot face, remembering how she had allowed Annette to think she was not in love with Antonio and had turned him down. Annette had been scornfully incredulous, and more than a little jealous. Funny how she hadn't seen this until years later, Jane thought, not until the summer Eddie died and Annette came to stay at the cottage.

Jane walked back across the sand, her earlier light-hearted mood replaced by a crushing sadness, so deeply enmeshed in her memories that she did not even feel the scorching sand beneath her tender feet and was at the top of the steps before she recollected her sandals. She pulled them on and began walking almost dreamily in the direction of the tree-lined square, where she vaguely recalled Antonio's restaurant had been. There was, as far as she could remember, an antique shop on the same side. Not, of course, that either would still be there, Jane told herself.

Jane strolled past closed shops, their awnings fully extended to shade the buildings from the hot afternoon sunshine. Music came from an open doorway, one of the few
tapas
bars open at that time of day. She turned down the other side of the square and had walked almost the length of it when she suddenly came upon the antique shop. She gazed in the window, not too surprised to find it unchanged for its charm, after all, lay in its antiquity.

At a kiosk she bought postcards, before continuing on, intent on laying old ghosts. She had traversed the third side of the almost deserted square, passing a ceramic shop and jeweller's store, and decided to have the
cafe con leche
she had promised herself.

She stepped up on the pavement and there, right in front of her, was Antonio's restaurant. Of course, Jane thought on a long sigh. It wasn't on the same side as the antique shop but opposite
.
Her memory had been playing her tricks.

She went closer and deliberately pressed her forehead to the thick glass. Gradually her eyes adjusted to the dim interior and she sighted the expected rows of tables, adorned with snowy napery. In the background, a fish tank bubbled iridescently, speckled crabs heaped in a crustacean Laocoon against the glass wall. She pulled back and with a last glance at the signboard overhead, crossed to the cafe and sat down. When the waiter approached she changed her mind and ordered a brandy instead of coffee. She sat sipping it slowly, her eyes fixed on Antonio's restaurant without really seeing it, her thoughts full of the past.

She lingered there writing her postcards. The sun had sunk low in the sky and the girls were on the look-out for her by the time she returned to the hotel.

Annette read Jane's postcard twice. So she had gone back to El Balcon de Europa. Annette was visited by a rush of feeling so strong that she almost got weak.

She picked up Jane's postcard and read it again, trying to make out her physician's scrawl. ‘Went on a tour of old familiar spots,' Jane had scribbled, and ‘Saw Antonio's restaurant.'

They were back together again!

Annette put the card down and gazed sullenly into space. Her mind began to fantasise a situation where Jane and Antonio got married and returned in a flurry of orange blossoms to live in the house across the street.

Jane had always been luckier than her.

Annette told herself it was ironic that women like Jane got men like Eddie and Antonio, while she got Jim and then couldn't even hold on to him. It was so bloody unfair. Was Jane, who was over forty and no beauty to begin with, to be the one to get another husband while she, a spurned wife, was left to grow old alone?

Although that week Jane made several trips back to the restaurant at times when she might expect it to be open, she never even got a glimpse of Antonio. Once she thought she recognised him standing in the doorway, looking up the street, but when she nervously approached she saw that it was a much younger man, hardly more than twenty-five or six. His dark eyes settled on her face coolly, impersonally and she was seized by confusion. She hurried on past.

Further up the street she turned abruptly and paused to stare into an estate agent's window to allow her heart time to slow down. She looked, without really seeing the coloured photographs of villas and apartment blocks, then her gaze focused and she thought how lovely it must be to own an apartment right here in Nerja and have a legitimate excuse to come away every year to bask in the heat and beauty of Spain.

Jane shrugged and turned away. It would cost the earth.

‘Mummy, you're not listening,' Sheena scolded.

‘Sorry, love,' Jane apologised. The truth was she was distracted by thoughts of owning an apartment in Spain. The idea had begun to take hold and now she couldn't stop dwelling on the pros and cons of it. With so many people wanting to retire to the sun, it would make a very sound investment, besides ensuring a great family holiday each year.

With an effort, Jane shelved her thoughts and set about soothing Sheena's feelings.

In the shallow end of the pool, Ruthie was swimming her first strokes under Claire's careful tutelage. The little girl could do a width now, and was learning rapidly.

‘Ready, folks,' Sheena shouted from the diving board.

‘Go on!' Jane urged. ‘We're watching.'

Sheena paused to ensure maximum attention, then launched herself in a graceful somersault into the sparkling depths.

‘Well done,' Jane praised as her daughter's head bobbed up, sleek and dripping. Sheena grinned and waved, delighted with all the attention she was getting.

‘Look at me, look at me,' Ruthie begged, anxious for a share.

Jane watched and enthusiastically applauded her younger daughter's efforts before returning to her thoughts. She had not seen Ruthie so tranquil since the sudden deaths in the family had deprived her of her father and her brother. All her children had been deeply affected by the tragedy, Jane acknowledged, but Ruthie perhaps most of all. Ever since then she had been on an emotional see-saw and after the trauma of her kidnapping Jane had despaired of her ever pulling out of it. But here in Spain Ruthie was a different child, she thought. Sunny, like the weather, and joyously receptive to any proposal that was made. Clearly, her growing friendship with Adela and the other little Spanish girls was a sign she was emerging at last from the horror of the previous summer.

An answer to prayer.

Jane felt gratitude so intense that tears sprang to her eyes. What had been a wistful longing to return again to Spain crystallised into a burning desire to make it happen. She would give any money, she told herself, to ensure that Ruthie stayed well and happy.

Claire found herself dreading the end of the holidays. She loved Spain and everything Spanish and she might never come back again.

She had no presents to bring home and was glad on their second last day when Jane suggested that they all go shopping for souvenirs.

‘If we head off before it gets too hot,' Jane told them after breakfast, ‘we'll be back in good time for a swim before lunch.'

‘I must get something for Terry,' Sheena said, plumping down on her bed and laying all her money out on the coverlet. ‘Do you think he'd like a leather belt, Claire? I saw some lovely ones in the town.'

‘I'm sure he would.' Claire thought she might get one for Christopher and, perhaps, a broach or scented soaps for her mother. She still hadn't any idea what to buy for Marissa's baby.

‘I'll go halves with you on Terry's present, Sheena,' Ruthie offered. Like her sister, she was laboriously counting out her money.

‘Okay,' Sheena dismissed her and turned back to Claire. ‘He's not returning until the middle of September. When Mummy rang him yesterday, he said he's having a marvellous time in Maryland.'

Claire nodded soberly. Somehow the mention of Terry always left her feeling a bit down. He was bound to be very sophisticated when he returned from America, she thought wistfully. Only another month. Not so very long now.

‘Ready, girls?' Jane asked, coming back into the room. She was wearing a Kelly-green blouse and a floaty skirt in some fine material, an exotic swirl of colours in peacock blue and green which she had bought in a boutique during the week.