aren’t right and the bus drivers say they’re leaving . . . Anyway, I was doing this and had finished and was going out to the buses when a man came up to me and said he wouldn’t be going on a bus after all because his friend had unexpectedly met him and he was returning with the friend and he’d be along to the hotel later in the evening and would that be all right? I told him, now I know what’s happening you can take off to where you like.’
‘Which hotel’s he staying at?’
‘The Don Emilio in Gala Baston. That’s on the sea front, at the far end of town. A bit nicer than most of the others and the food’s good. I always eat there when I can.’
‘When I was a boy,’ he said sadly, ‘Gala Baston was just a beach.’
‘Then it’s changed!’ There was no regret in her voice for peace and solitude lost. If the island had not been a Mecca for tourists, she’d be living in Birmingham.
By the time he drove into Puerto Llueso, the front cafes and restaurants were still busy but elsewhere the port had quietened and there was little traffic passing Tracey’s flat. He climbed the rickety wooden stairs and reached the outside patio to see that the window shutters were closed and the curtain had been drawn across inside the door. He checked the time: a quarter past eleven. He’d warned her that because of his work he couldn’t guarantee when he’d be along and she’d said it didn’t matter, he was to come, yet if she were already asleep she’d have every right to be annoyed. On the other hand, she might still be awake, reading, waiting for word from him . . . He decided to compromise and tapped lightly on the door so that if she were asleep he wouldn’t wake her. After a moment, the curtain was drawn aside. Tracey unlocked the door. She was wearing a short embroidered nightdress of some filmy material and in the soft light, a mixture of moonlight and diffused street lighting, it had suggestions of transparency.
‘I’m very sorry to be so late,’ he said formally, trying to keep his gaze on a level with her head, ‘but I’ve only just finished work. I hoped you wouldn’t actually have gone to bed.’
‘I wasn’t asleep because I knew you’d be along when you could . . . Don’t keep standing there like a lost soul, come on in.’
‘Perhaps . . . perhaps it would be better if I left?’
‘When you haven’t really arrived? What’s the matter? Don’t you want to come in?’
He swallowed heavily.
‘Enrique,’ she murmured, ‘you’re one goddamn fool. Do I have to put the invitation in writing?’
He stepped inside and she shut the door, locked it, and pulled the curtain across.
CHAPTER 12
Alvarez stood at the kitchen table and dunked the last piece of featherlight ensaimada into the bowl of hot cocoa. Dolores saw him smile and she opened her mouth to speak and then, most uncharacteristically, said nothing. She went over to the cooker, picked up a saucepan, and put this down on the marble working surface with unnecessary force.
As he chewed, he stared out through the open window at the small courtyard and the tangerine tree which was half in sunshine. ‘Looks like it’s going to be a nice day,’ he said enthusiastically.
‘What d’you expect at this time of the year?’
He chuckled. ‘You sound as if you got out of the wrong side of the bed this morning.’
‘And you sound . . .’ She stopped.
‘How do I sound?’
The word ridiculous tickled her tongue, but she managed to contain it. She picked up the saucepan and returned it to the cooker, banging it down with even more force than before. ‘I saw Victoria yesterday.’
‘So now I understand why you’re fed up with life,’ he said gaily, careless of the fact that the two women were from time to time quite friendly.
Her lips tightened, but before she would say anything more Juan came into the kitchen. She ordered him out in so sharp a voice that he almost ran, his expression both worried and
‘Which hotel’s he staying at?’
‘The Don Emilio in Gala Baston. That’s on the sea front, at the far end of town. A bit nicer than most of the others and the food’s good. I always eat there when I can.’
‘When I was a boy,’ he said sadly, ‘Gala Baston was just a beach.’
‘Then it’s changed!’ There was no regret in her voice for peace and solitude lost. If the island had not been a Mecca for tourists, she’d be living in Birmingham.
By the time he drove into Puerto Llueso, the front cafes and restaurants were still busy but elsewhere the port had quietened and there was little traffic passing Tracey’s flat. He climbed the rickety wooden stairs and reached the outside patio to see that the window shutters were closed and the curtain had been drawn across inside the door. He checked the time: a quarter past eleven. He’d warned her that because of his work he couldn’t guarantee when he’d be along and she’d said it didn’t matter, he was to come, yet if she were already asleep she’d have every right to be annoyed. On the other hand, she might still be awake, reading, waiting for word from him . . . He decided to compromise and tapped lightly on the door so that if she were asleep he wouldn’t wake her. After a moment, the curtain was drawn aside. Tracey unlocked the door. She was wearing a short embroidered nightdress of some filmy material and in the soft light, a mixture of moonlight and diffused street lighting, it had suggestions of transparency.
‘I’m very sorry to be so late,’ he said formally, trying to keep his gaze on a level with her head, ‘but I’ve only just finished work. I hoped you wouldn’t actually have gone to bed.’
‘I wasn’t asleep because I knew you’d be along when you could . . . Don’t keep standing there like a lost soul, come on in.’
‘Perhaps . . . perhaps it would be better if I left?’
‘When you haven’t really arrived? What’s the matter? Don’t you want to come in?’
He swallowed heavily.
‘Enrique,’ she murmured, ‘you’re one goddamn fool. Do I have to put the invitation in writing?’
He stepped inside and she shut the door, locked it, and pulled the curtain across.
CHAPTER 12
Alvarez stood at the kitchen table and dunked the last piece of featherlight ensaimada into the bowl of hot cocoa. Dolores saw him smile and she opened her mouth to speak and then, most uncharacteristically, said nothing. She went over to the cooker, picked up a saucepan, and put this down on the marble working surface with unnecessary force.
As he chewed, he stared out through the open window at the small courtyard and the tangerine tree which was half in sunshine. ‘Looks like it’s going to be a nice day,’ he said enthusiastically.
‘What d’you expect at this time of the year?’
He chuckled. ‘You sound as if you got out of the wrong side of the bed this morning.’
‘And you sound . . .’ She stopped.
‘How do I sound?’
The word ridiculous tickled her tongue, but she managed to contain it. She picked up the saucepan and returned it to the cooker, banging it down with even more force than before. ‘I saw Victoria yesterday.’
‘So now I understand why you’re fed up with life,’ he said gaily, careless of the fact that the two women were from time to time quite friendly.
Her lips tightened, but before she would say anything more Juan came into the kitchen. She ordered him out in so sharp a voice that he almost ran, his expression both worried and
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