The White Schooner by Antony Trew Page B

difference? We can wait, so long as in the end we succeed.’
    But Black knew that if the operation were to fail now he wouldn’t get a second chance. If Hassan were here this time, he could be here next time. Kagan would choose someone else. Someone who could not be compromised in that way. No one knew better than Black himself the element of recklessness which was so much a part of his nature. Well, he thought, that’s the way I am and that’s the way I’ll always be, and we are not going to call off this operation.
     
    The bus put them down outside San José and they walked back along the road towards Ibiza until they reached the dirt road which would take them into the hills.
    It was well past noon and sun from a cloudless sky had warmed the earth. The road led through terraces of almonds and caribs and as they walked the air vibrated with the hum of bees and the high note of cicadas.
    The terraces were carpeted with marguerites and poppies, charlock and pea flowers, and their warm spring perfumes were overlaid by the aromatic scent of rosemary and sage. Onthe stone walls of the terraces little green lizards came suddenly into the sunlight to watch them, throats palpitating, before slipping back into crevices and shadows.
    Later the road steepened and they took to the hillside, making their way through undergrowth which grew denser as they climbed.
    At times he would stop and point to a bird, then watch it through binoculars, describe it to her and sometimes make an entry in the book he carried in the bag. It seemed to Manuela that he knew a great deal about these things.
    Once he stopped and listened. ‘Hear that?’
    At first she could not, then beneath the complex hum of insects she heard a low ‘ tec, tec .’She nodded.
    He whispered, ‘Icterine Warbler, I think. Keep still. We may see it.’
    She looked in the direction from which the noise came, saw movement in a shrub, and a bird appeared. Small and undistinguished , a pale earthy brown.
    ‘No,’ he said. ‘It’s the Olivaceous Warbler. Hippolais pallida. See the long bill and pale stripe above the eye.’ He passed her the binoculars and while she was using them he was trying to free his mind of the nagging picture of the man in the black beret leaning forward as the taxi passed the shop window.
    Farther up the hill she stopped, touched his arm and pointed to a small bird perched on a dried stem. It had a black crown, grey upperparts and white undersides. A distinctive white line, like a moustache, ran from the bill. Its eyes and legs were russet.
    ‘My bird is prettier,’ she whispered.
    He nodded. ‘Ruppell’s Warbler. Handsome little chap.’
    The bird made a diminutive rattling noise and whisked away. Black looked at Manuela’s flushed face. Her eyes were brighter than he remembered them. ‘Enjoying it?’
    ‘Very much. It is for me something quite different.’
    He said, ‘I wonder how many men have told you you’re beautiful?’ She stopped and tossed her black hair back so that she could see him better. ‘Why do you say that?’
    ‘Because you are. And the thought just crossed my mind.’
    She stared at him as if she were seeing him for the first time, then she looked up the hill towards the pines. ‘Comeon,’ she said. ‘You say we lunch in the woods. I am hungry.’
     
    They sat under the trees on a carpet of pine needles to a late lunch of bocadillos ,long crusty rolls filled with cheese and tunny, a bottle of red wine and some oranges. When the meal was finished, Black put the empty wine bottle and crumpled paper into the fishing bag. ‘Had enough?’ he said.
    She was lying on the pine needles, her hands clasped behind her head. ‘Yes. The bocadillos were marvellous. Where did you get them?’
    ‘At the market.’
    He lay on his side next to her, chin in hand, elbow on the ground, examining her face feature by feature, approving it. He put his little finger on her lips. They were soft and moist. He took the finger away and