The Woman at the Window (7 page)

‘I don't know,' Hefin said. ‘Apparently he just jumped up and said: “To hell with it, I'm not going to spend my evenings watching bloody television!” and off he went. He'd taken a fancy to a young Albanian lad working in a bar down in San Antonio. Off he goes like a randy stag!'

‘Really,' Gisella said. ‘A man of his age. Pushing sixty surely. Poor Ernst will be devastated.'

‘Gloomy as hell. Suicidal. Couldn't get a word out of him. Is there anything to eat?'

***

Within minutes of the time to start out for the island's only airport, Hefin struck his head against a low lintel and lay moaning on the stone floor. His head was bleeding and he claimed he couldn't see properly. Double vision. So how could he drive? Gisella had to bind his head and then rush to the battered green van they used for journeys into the wider world. It did occur to her as she steered her way down the rock-strewn path that there could be such a phenomenon as accidentally-on-purpose. It could be part of the mechanism of the male of the species and account for many of the vagaries of the historical process. If there was any lesson to be learnt from the American Civil War it had to be how an accidental spark could ignite a conflagration. Even our stumbles are beyond our understanding. It was something that dear Hefin could consider next time his brush slipped when he was painting. Only a thin membrane between accident and inspiration.

Having driven as fast as her nerves could stand, Gisella discovered Bryn Tanat standing in the shade of a palm tree across the road leading to the airport. Even at a distance he was a formidable figure and out of place. In his long overcoat and hat with his luggage at his feet he looked a person of authority at a loss for someone on whom to exert it. Gisella believed she had always been disapproved of, particularly when his wife was alive. She was the evil influence that had led their son astray. For Hefin's sake, Gisella had stiffened her resolve to rise above, or at least ignore, the censure of his family. Bryn Tanat viewed the dust-covered van with distaste and disapproval.

‘Is that the best you can manage?' he said.

Gisella's explanations were embarrassed and mumbled. Bryn Tanat looked like a man committed to his own convenience and comfort. He was sweating in his clothes and he wanted to hire a car immediately. This proved more difficult than he expected. It involved a long wait he was not prepared to put up with. He allowed himself to sit in the shade of the van's lumpy passenger seat. He was still the large and handsome bulk of a man, assured of his own importance, that she remembered. He made himself as comfortable as he could and gazed morosely through the dirty windscreen at the sunlit landscape. Gisella nervously pointed out landmarks of interest, turrets and churches, but he was clearly not in a receptive mood.

‘What's he got against me?'

The first time Gisella failed to hear the question above the noise of the engine, so he repeated it. His eyes were staring at her, large and liquid, to show he was a father, hurt, injured. Her mouth opened, her neat head shook as she groped around for an appropriate answer. She couldn't issue an outright denial of what they both knew was only too true.

‘You are a bit overwhelming.'

It was the best she could come up with. She freed a hand from the steering wheel to make a gesture that after all she was expressing herself in a second language.

‘Am I?'

To her surprise he looked rather pleased.This enabled her to smile and she knew her smile was considered her most attractive feature.

‘Well, I only wanted the best for him. Always.'

That had to be true. The problem was how you defined ‘good', and what was the distinction between ‘better' and ‘best'? Plainly the son inherited self-will from the father as well as masculine good looks. Could it be possible that despising success could be as damaging as desiring it? Inspired by Bryn Tanat's presence she was quietly excited to speculate.

‘I could have been wrong of course.'

It was a substantial admission for a professional politician to make. She was struck with the elegiac tone with which he made it. Something could have brought about a change of heart. But could it? In a man of his age. She covered her own confusion by apologising for the roughness of the track they were beginning to climb. He was barely listening.

‘They've shoved me out of the shadow cabinet.'

He was almost talking to himself, yet he wanted her to hear.

‘So I'll never hold office.'

He expected her to sympathise.

‘This New Labour lot. All they want is power. Don't give a damn about socialism.'

She wondered how much she cared. She had to remind herself she was a Swiss citizen from the Ticino. She had convictions but they weren't political. Or were they? Perhaps everything connected with Hefin and his father was political in the end. It made the prospect different and disturbing.

‘They're going to win. That's all that matters. That's what it's all about.'

He turned to address her directly.

‘Is that why you've settled out here? Out of the rat race as they call it?'

He was making a visible effort to understand. There was no simple answer she could give him. She could say how little she understood British parliamentary practice, or that politics in general were something his son had little time for. He was concentrating on expression and perception in depth, transmuted into artistic forms. That would irritate him.

Hefin's standard view was that finance power controlled everything in the world and they lived here to be least subjected to it.

‘I miss Morfudd so much. My days are so empty without her.'

He gave a deep sigh. He was still grieving. After two years. Gisella had to accept it.

‘She was a real socialist. Ready to make sacrifices. Her mother had had to stand in a queue to wait her turn at the soup kitchen in the Rhondda. That was something they never forgot. Lined up like starving cattle. We were determined that nothing like that should happen again. She was dedicated. Really dedicated. That's why we sent Hefin away to school. So we could give all our time to the cause. We worked our guts out. As she saw it my career and the cause became one. And now they're both gone.'

That rumour about a rich widow? It had to be a lie. Or maybe they had fallen out? At second hand, from her experience of translating the memoirs of politicians, they were capable of anything in order to justify themselves. At least Hefin's father was trying to be honest.

‘What's done is done. You can't go back and undo it.' 

This seemed a truth to which they could both subscribe.

You just had to soldier on and make the best of it. Towards the end of the journey Gisella warmed towards him. It was possible the father's visit would not be so dire after all.

On the bare ground outside the cactus hedge in front of their finca, Gisella was astonished to see parked a gleaming new four by four she had never seen before. Bryn Tanat pointed at it.

‘That's the kind of vehicle you need around here. It's not yours, is it?'

Gisella shook her head, obviously puzzled. 

‘I'll have to get you one.'

He emerged to admire the compact machine. In these primeval surroundings it could have been an object dropped from outer space. Gisella hurried into the house. Out of the gloom of the interior she was greeted by a loudly cheerful Home Counties voice.

‘Gisella! I was about to seduce your lovely husband! Doesn't he look romantic with a bandage around his head!' Alison Loomis was holding up both her hands as though caught in the act. Alison was a leading figure in their circle. Cheerfully divorced from a rich American banker, she had built for herself a house in the Moorish style with cloisters and flat roofs and a landscape garden where it gave her much pleasure to entertain her artistic friends. Gisella and Hefin were particular favourites because they were ready to help in the garden.

‘The thing is my dear, we've got to do something about Gustavo. He's very naughty. We can't have him behaving like this. Breaking poor Ernst's heart.'

Gisella nodded nervously. Hearing voices, Bryn Tanat was lingering outside.

‘What I thought was, we could go down there in my new jalopy and root him out. He's such a naughty boy!'

‘I hope you're not talking about me!'

Bryn Tanat crossed the threshold as though the loud voice he heard was an invitation to a public occasion. He was no longer morose or despondent. If there was a bit of liveliness going on he was very ready to join in. Nervously Gisella made the introductions.

‘Alison. This is Hefin's father. Bryn Tanat. Member of Parliament.'

‘My goodness. We are honoured.'

There was a competition in loud laughter as they shook hands.

They were instant kindred souls: a cheerful man in his late sixties and a redoubtable woman not much younger. Gisella's accent and apprehensive manner had made the introduction sound charmingly quaint.

‘Now we can see where the boy's good looks came from!' 

Bryn Tanat was resolved to be positive and modest. 

‘He's got more than that,' he said. ‘I'm only a politician. 
He could be something much more if he chose to be.' Hefin's response was to lurk further behind Alison 
Loomis, his bandage white and discouraging in the deeper gloom.

‘Look, I mustn't keep you,' Alison said briskly. ‘I intrude on a family reunion.'

Bryn Tanat managed to show concern for his son's bandaged head. The damage gave Hefin an excuse for a lack of enthusiasm. Their encounter was muted, but already acquiring tension.

‘So I'm off,' Alison said. ‘So nice to meet you. Look, all of you. I'm planning a little roof party on Friday evening. To say hello to that famous comet with a funny name. It also happens to be my birthday, but you can ignore that. I do hope you'll come. And Mr Tanat! I would love to show off a nice new face. Expats tend to see too much of each other. Now I'm off to frogmarch the naughty Gustavo home.'

Hefin became suddenly animated. He followed Alison into the open air.

‘You can't go into that nasty hole alone, Alison. I'm coming with you.'

He went back indoors.

‘Look I'll be back in a couple of hours. Well in time for supper. We can't possibly let her venture into that bar alone. It's a ghastly place. Anything could happen. Gisella, you explain to my father. I'll be back in no time.'

***

The dogs took to Bryn Tanat and he took to them. Their sense of smell seemed to tell them there was a generic relationship between the men who took them to run in the pine forest. They responded to the same note of encouragement and reprimand. Bryn Tanat was happy to attribute their good behaviour to the authority he had with animals in general. ‘At least they do as I say,' he would say. ‘Which is more than I can say for the higher species. If they are higher.' The tranquil remoteness in this north corner of the island encouraged him to philosophise and Gisella was an experienced listener. He took some interest in her work and knew quite a lot about the American Civil War. When he questioned her too closely Gisella had to confess it was the language she was concerned with more than the content. She was quick to add that his knowledge had given her labours a new interest.

Hefin returned in triumph. Together he and Alison had plunged into the darkest corner of the lion's den and plucked out Gustavo from the corner where he was feeding his Albanian boy with a giant ice cream. They sent the boy packing and Gustavo was now lodged in Alison's Moorish palace and being given a good talking to – ‘debriefed' Hefin called it – before being reunited with his loved one. When Gisella filled in the background for Bryn Tanat, Hefin's father pulled a face expressing his repulsion. The son could not forebear to comment.

‘What's this? A slight attack of homophobia?'

‘Is that what they call it? I suppose I'm old fashioned. Let's say it doesn't agree with me.'

Gisella did her best to explain that normally Gustavo and Ernst were a sweet and loving couple. In the interests of harmony, Bryn Tanat said ‘If you say so' and tried to make it clear he was here to learn and understand. It was a display of modest restraint that left Hefin increasingly suspicious. The crucial moment came at the end of a quiet supper.

‘You know why I've come, don't you?'

Gisella grew tense as she waited for Hefin's response. It was possible he could say something outrageous, like ‘to disturb my peace. What else?' Instead her hero looked mildly ridiculous. The bandage around his head was working loose and his mouth was open with no sound emerging.

‘I want you to design a house for me.'

It was as much a chairman of a committee awarding a commission as a warm paternal smile. Hefin raised two hands to his bandage and frowned as if his head had begun to ache.

‘I inherited a smallholding above Aberaeron. I think I told you. And I have planning permission which is a major achievement in that neck of the woods, I can tell you.'