Sleeping Tiger by Rosamunde Pilcher Page A

so that I could understand?” but neither of them took the slightest notice of her.
    The argument was interrupted at last by the arrival of a fat German who wanted a glass of beer, and while Rudolfo went behind the bar to serve him, Selina took the opportunity to tug at George’s sleeve and say, “What’s happened? Tell me what’s happened!”
    â€œRudolfo is annoyed because you said you would wait at the Casa Barco, and he thought that the taxi-driver would wait there with you. He doesn’t like stray taxi-drivers sitting round his bar, getting sloshed, and he seems to have taken a particular dislike to this one.”
    â€œOh.”
    â€œYes, oh.”
    â€œIs that all?”
    â€œNo, of course it’s not all. In the end, to get rid of the man, Rudolfo paid him. And now he says I owe him six hundred pesetas, and he’s got cold feet because he doesn’t think I’ll be able to pay him back.”
    â€œBut, I’ll pay him.… I promise.…”
    â€œThat isn’t really the point. He wants it now.”
    The fat German, sensing a bad atmosphere, carried his beer outside and he was no sooner away than Rudolfo and George turned on each other once more, but Selina moved swiftly forward.
    â€œOh please, Mr.… Rudolfo, I mean. It’s all my fault, and I’ll see you get paid back, but you see, all my money was stolen.…”
    Rudolfo had heard this before. “You said you would wait at the Casa Barco. With the taxi-driver.”
    â€œI didn’t know he would be here for so long.”
    â€œAnd you,” Rudolfo turned to George again. “Where were you, anyway? Going off to San Antonio, and not coming back, and nobody knows where you are…”
    â€œWhat the hell’s it got to do with you? Where I go and what I do is my own bloody business.”
    â€œIt has to do with me when I have to pay your bills.”
    â€œNobody asked you to pay it. And it wasn’t my bill, anyway. And you’ve loused everything up, because now the Señorita can’t get back to San Antonio.”
    â€œThen take her yourself!”
    â€œI’ll be damned if I will!” yelled George. And with that, he stormed out of the bar, was down the terrace steps in a single stride, and into his car. Selina shot after him. “What about me?”
    He turned to look at her. “Well, are you coming or are you going to stay here?”
    â€œI don’t want to stay here.”
    â€œCome on, then.”
    There was no alternative. Half the village, and all Rudolfo’s customers, seemed to be enjoying the scene. George leaned over to open her door, and Selina got in beside him.
    At this moment, as if on a signal from some celestial stage manager, the storm broke.
    There was a flash of lightning that split the sky, a roll of thunder and a sudden upsurge of wind that sent the pines shaking. The tablecloths on the Cala Fuerte terrace rose and flapped like badly-set sails, and a hat blew from the rack outside Maria’s shop, and went bowling, a big pink and yellow wheel, down the main street. Dust rose in spirals, and behind the wind came the rain, a sudden sheet of it, the drops so big and heavy that in seconds the gutters were flooded.
    Everybody rushed indoors. Rudolfo’s customers, the gossiping women, the scampering children, the two men who had been working on the road. There was a general air of impending disaster as though an air-raid siren had gone, and in no time the place was deserted. Except for Selina and George, and George’s little car.
    She started to get out, but he had the engine running and he yanked her back again. She said, “Can’t we shelter too?”
    â€œWhat for? You’re not afraid of a little rain?”
    â€œA little rain?” His profile was stony and he didn’t deign to answer. “Doesn’t the hood go up?”
    He pushed the car into gear and they started with the