hurt.
Alvarez finally realized that the storm signals were flying. ‘I’d better get moving—got a lot to do.’ He picked up the bowl and drained the cocoa.
‘Victoria told me she saw you the day before yesterday.’
‘Yes? Well, I must be off . . .’
‘She says you were with a foreign woman. Is it because of this woman that you’re always late home?’
‘I’ve told you, I’m having to work myself silly and . . .’
‘You were working until five this morning?’
‘What d’you mean?’
‘I heard you creep in.’
‘Well, I . . . I had to go to a hotel over in Ca’n Nestat and I had a drink or two and . . .’
‘Enrique, listen to me.’ Her tone had changed and now was no longer sharp but pleading. ‘For someone like you there can be nothing but sorrow from going out with a foreign woman. You’re too . . . too emotional and you don’t understand what they have become. For you, love is something sacred: for them, it is something they throw away as easily as a cigarette stub.’
‘You don’t know her so you’re talking nonsense.’
‘Is it true that she’s much younger than you?’
‘What if she is?’ he demanded roughly. ‘Can’t you understand that sometimes age doesn’t mean a thing? It’s how people feel that matters, not how old they are. Why shouldn’t I go out with a foreigner? D’you think we’re still living in the times when people crossed themselves if they saw one because they were scared it was the devil in disguise?’
‘Don’t get angry. I’m trying to help you.’
‘You’ve a very funny way of showing that.’
‘I love you too much to stand around and see you being hurt.’
‘It’s you who’s hurting me, not Tracey.’
She stared at him for a few seconds, desperate to find the words that would make him understand, then she turned away, shoulders slumped. The foreigners had brought with them so much money that every islander’s life had been changed out of all recognition. But as far as she was concerned, far from being grateful, that was one of the reasons for fearing and disliking them.
Gala B as ton, fifteen kilometres along the coast from Puerto Llueso, was an alien, anonymous place of hotels, apartment blocks, villas, restaurants, shops, discotheques, and topless bars, which existed solely to serve the tourist trade: it owed nothing to the island. Although holiday-makers of many countries did stay there, by far the majority were German and this fact was reflected by the menus printed in German, the rye bread, the variety of lagers, and the memento shops with their carved wooden figures of ample proportions and slightly salacious natures.
The Don Emilio was on the front at the western end of the town and the tall, oblong building, using coloured panels on the outside walls to break up the otherwise stark lines, was set in gardens which were bright and colourful almost all the year round.
The receptionist said Sen or Prade was, as far as he knew, still in his room. He telephoned Room 231, then handed the receiver over. Alvarez introduced himself.
Prade, around thirty, just short of six feet tall, a head of straight black hair, rugged rather than handsome, wearing a casual blue shirt and grey cotton trousers, came down the main staircase to the lobby. He shook hands with a firm, dry grip.
Tm sorry to bother you, señor, when I understand you are not very well,’ said Alvarez.
‘How the hell d’you know that?’
‘I had a word with señorita Brown.’
‘Did you, then! Nice girl that, and efficient. Got hold of some medicine for me that really did the trick so I’m virtually back to normal.’ He grinned sardonically. ‘Got to be fit to go back home and tell everyone what a wonderful holiday I’ve had.’
‘Señor, can you have a coffee with me in the television room?’
‘I’m up to drinking coffee, yes . . . Look, what’s wrong?’
‘Please come with me.’
There were no guests in the television room, but a maid was sweeping
Alvarez finally realized that the storm signals were flying. ‘I’d better get moving—got a lot to do.’ He picked up the bowl and drained the cocoa.
‘Victoria told me she saw you the day before yesterday.’
‘Yes? Well, I must be off . . .’
‘She says you were with a foreign woman. Is it because of this woman that you’re always late home?’
‘I’ve told you, I’m having to work myself silly and . . .’
‘You were working until five this morning?’
‘What d’you mean?’
‘I heard you creep in.’
‘Well, I . . . I had to go to a hotel over in Ca’n Nestat and I had a drink or two and . . .’
‘Enrique, listen to me.’ Her tone had changed and now was no longer sharp but pleading. ‘For someone like you there can be nothing but sorrow from going out with a foreign woman. You’re too . . . too emotional and you don’t understand what they have become. For you, love is something sacred: for them, it is something they throw away as easily as a cigarette stub.’
‘You don’t know her so you’re talking nonsense.’
‘Is it true that she’s much younger than you?’
‘What if she is?’ he demanded roughly. ‘Can’t you understand that sometimes age doesn’t mean a thing? It’s how people feel that matters, not how old they are. Why shouldn’t I go out with a foreigner? D’you think we’re still living in the times when people crossed themselves if they saw one because they were scared it was the devil in disguise?’
‘Don’t get angry. I’m trying to help you.’
‘You’ve a very funny way of showing that.’
‘I love you too much to stand around and see you being hurt.’
‘It’s you who’s hurting me, not Tracey.’
She stared at him for a few seconds, desperate to find the words that would make him understand, then she turned away, shoulders slumped. The foreigners had brought with them so much money that every islander’s life had been changed out of all recognition. But as far as she was concerned, far from being grateful, that was one of the reasons for fearing and disliking them.
Gala B as ton, fifteen kilometres along the coast from Puerto Llueso, was an alien, anonymous place of hotels, apartment blocks, villas, restaurants, shops, discotheques, and topless bars, which existed solely to serve the tourist trade: it owed nothing to the island. Although holiday-makers of many countries did stay there, by far the majority were German and this fact was reflected by the menus printed in German, the rye bread, the variety of lagers, and the memento shops with their carved wooden figures of ample proportions and slightly salacious natures.
The Don Emilio was on the front at the western end of the town and the tall, oblong building, using coloured panels on the outside walls to break up the otherwise stark lines, was set in gardens which were bright and colourful almost all the year round.
The receptionist said Sen or Prade was, as far as he knew, still in his room. He telephoned Room 231, then handed the receiver over. Alvarez introduced himself.
Prade, around thirty, just short of six feet tall, a head of straight black hair, rugged rather than handsome, wearing a casual blue shirt and grey cotton trousers, came down the main staircase to the lobby. He shook hands with a firm, dry grip.
Tm sorry to bother you, señor, when I understand you are not very well,’ said Alvarez.
‘How the hell d’you know that?’
‘I had a word with señorita Brown.’
‘Did you, then! Nice girl that, and efficient. Got hold of some medicine for me that really did the trick so I’m virtually back to normal.’ He grinned sardonically. ‘Got to be fit to go back home and tell everyone what a wonderful holiday I’ve had.’
‘Señor, can you have a coffee with me in the television room?’
‘I’m up to drinking coffee, yes . . . Look, what’s wrong?’
‘Please come with me.’
There were no guests in the television room, but a maid was sweeping
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