A Winter Bride (33 page)

‘But then it wouldn’t have been a surprise. This is a surprise. OK then, do you fancy a few days in Valencia?’

‘Yes, but the way you said it at first, made it sound like you were going alone.’

Hamish asked why he’d do that now he had her in his life. ‘We’re a couple.’

‘Ah. People who are part of couples say “we” not “I”.’

Hamish smiled. ‘I’ll remember that.
We
can sample paella as it’s intended to be eaten.’

They flew to Barcelona and drove to Valencia in a hired car. Hamish sang opera most of the way. ‘Do you like Verdi?’

‘I used to, before I heard your rendition of
Aida
,’ said Nell. ‘Actually, I’m more of a Beatles woman. And the Rolling Stones. I loved Buddy Holly.’

‘God, yes, Buddy Holly,’ said Hamish. ‘You’re taking me back to my wasted youth with that name. I had all his records.’

‘What did you do with them?’

‘Left them behind when I moved north. Left everything – all my books, all my furniture. Wanted to walk away from the life I’d had with my wife and start afresh. Couldn’t bear the memories. Could’ve taken my Buddy Hollys though – they were from the time before I met her.’

She asked if he’d had the horn-rimmed glasses.

‘Oh, yes. The complete Buddy Holly outfit. I even did a fair impression of him.’ He gave her a swift burst of ‘Raining in My Heart’.

‘That’s really good,’ said Nell. ‘Takes me back to the Locarno in Edinburgh.’

‘I only went to Edinburgh once as a lad. Had an uncle and aunt lived there. But I went to the Locarno with my cousin. That was a rough place. Wild. I didn’t stay long. You never used to go there, did you?’

‘Yes, but only because my mother told me not to. She said it was heathen. Well, after she’d said that I had to go and find out what it was like.’

‘You have to be careful what you say to children. When I have kids I’m going to sit them down and explain everything to them. And if they do things I don’t want them to do and get into trouble, I want them to feel they can come to me. Understanding is all.’

Nell wanted to ask when he’d like to have kids but she let it go. She told him she agreed with him.

The hotel was perfect. Their room was snug, had a large bed and a small balcony that overlooked the Plaça de la Verge. ‘What more could you want?’ said Nell.

‘Nothing,’ said Hamish.

Over the next few days they became tourists. They wandered the streets, marvelling at the architecture, stared into shop windows and sat in cafés watching people pass by. They drove out to the Malvarrosa beach, sauntered round the Institute of Modern Art, visited the Botanical Gardens and went to see the Goyas at the Cathedral Diocesan Museum. They ate paella. ‘It’s the saffron,’ said Hamish. ‘Though I’ve been told they put colouring in.’

‘It’s wonderful. We could do it at the hotel. There is the local seafood.’

‘Good idea,’ he said. ‘I’ll look into Spanish wines to wash it down.’

Everywhere they went, Hamish kept his arm round Nell. ‘Protecting you from the world,’ he said. Every day, he told her she looked lovely. They both wished they’d booked for longer than five days.

‘Isn’t this marvellous?’ said Hamish. ‘Aren’t we wonderful? All this time together in a strange new place and we haven’t argued once. Most couples argue when they’re on holiday.’

‘Do they?’ asked Nell, though now she thought about it, she and Alistair had argued about having children on their honeymoon.

‘Oh, yes. We’re doing fine. Getting along like a house on fire.’

In retrospect, Hamish wished he hadn’t said that. The big fight came on their last night in Valencia. They were on the balcony planning where they should go to eat, and, as they did, watching a young couple with a little girl. The child was between them, holding a hand of each parent. Every few steps they’d hoist her into the air and swing her forward. The girl screamed with glee.

Hamish was entranced. ‘I want one of them. Well, two or maybe even three.’

‘With who?’

‘Why, with you, of course,’ he said. ‘Who else?’

‘Don’t you think there should be a few polite preliminaries first, like saying you love me, or telling me you want to marry me? Actually getting married so our children wouldn’t be illegitimate?’

Hamish was upset. ‘But you know me. You know I, well, you know. And you must know I want to … well, you know.’

‘No, I don’t know anything. It’s always “you know this” and “you know that” with you. What are you talking about?’

Hamish said, ‘You know.’

‘Too many you knows,’ said Nell.

‘I just don’t know how to say it,’ Hamish told her. ‘I have all this going on inside. These emotions, these feelings and I try to express them, bring them into the open, and say them out loud, but when I open my mouth all that comes out is “you know”.’

‘Try harder,’ said Nell.

Hamish looked pained, he spread him palms and looked pleadingly.

After a few seconds of him saying nothing at all, Nell picked up her coat and stormed out.

She clattered down the stairs and into the street. It was busy. Boiling with frustration, she pushed through the crowds. Why were men so awkward? She remembered what May had once told her: that they thought in straight lines as opposed to women who thought in curves, which was why women were wiser. Hamish probably thought in straight lines and made the mistake of thinking she did too.

She turned into the Plaza de la Reina. It was full of bars and restaurants. She and Hamish had eaten at a few of them but had been too busy visiting museums, gardens and the beach to explore it properly. Tonight, she wandered further than she’d been before.

It was starting to rain. Nell knew she should go back to the hotel, but she wasn’t yet ready for that. Her anger hadn’t subsided enough. She saw a bar, its name lit up in blue neon. The Locarno. Oh my, she thought, it’s an omen. She’d never in her life gone into a bar alone, but hey, this was Valencia. Perhaps women did that here. She went in.

It was crowded. It seemed to Nell that the place was full of men in crumpled linen suits drinking brandy and puffing cigars. Of course there were women, too. They wore low-cut dresses and sipped from long-stemmed glasses. The walls were painted dark red, the bar glistened with rows and rows of bottles and in the corner a young, handsome man was playing a baby grand piano.

A woman in an absurdly tight dress came forward, put her glass on the piano and leaned on it. She nodded to the man, grinned round at the assembled customers who all clapped, and started to sing ‘Fly Me to the Moon’. It was May Rutherford.

Nell stepped further into the room. She couldn’t believe this. What was May doing here? Of course, she was safe here. She couldn’t be extradited back home. Nell remembered reading that many British criminals ended up here. But, my God,
May Rutherford
here in Valencia, leaning on a piano and singing in her throaty voice. Who’d have thought it?

Nell scanned the room, looking for Harry. He was behind the bar, wearing an immaculately ironed pale-blue shirt and dazzling pink tie. Perched on his head was a floppy linen hat. He was pouring drinks and holding one finger to his lips, hushing anybody that dared speak while his wife was singing.

Nell stood frozen like a statue in the centre of the floor staring at May, even though she knew it would only be a few seconds before she was noticed.

May stopped singing. ‘Nell,’ she shouted. ‘Oh, Nell, it’s you. I always knew you’d come one day.’

Nell said nothing.

May turned to Harry. ‘It’s our Nell. Isn’t this place just like Piccadilly Circus? Stay here long enough and in time everyone you know will come by.’

Harry looking stunned, recovered, smiled and waved.

May started her long, twinkling mince towards Nell. The tightness of her dress made anything other than tiny, shuffling steps impossible. ‘Nell,’ she said with her arms spread wide, reaching out to her. ‘This is lovely. It’s made my day. It’s made my month, my year. You’ve got to have a drink. Harry, pour Nell a glass of champagne. And me too, come to that. We’ve got to celebrate. A glass of champagne on the house for everyone …’ Nell found herself clutched in May’s embrace, ‘How long are you staying? There’s a job for you here if you want it,’ she whispered fiercely in her ear. ‘You’re more than welcome. Have you got my glasses? They’re worth a fortune.’

For a moment, Nell’s mind drifted off. Her first daydream in a long time. She could stay here. She could have a small apartment, nothing fancy, just two rooms and a balcony where she could drink thick, black coffee in the morning watching the world go by. She could work in this bar. She wouldn’t wear anything tight like May. Perhaps wide silky trousers that flowed as she moved and a dark pink shirt with a high collar, but unbuttoned to show just a hint of a curve of her breasts. She could flirt with these men in crumpled linen suits. Maybe they were all criminals, gang leaders on the run from the law. It was a bit Lauren Bacall and Humphrey Bogart. She could learn Spanish, and spend her days in this fabulous, beautiful, ancient city.

As May finally released her, Nell took a step back and studied her ex-mother-in-law. She could see that she’d got older. Her face was etched with lines, thick with make-up. Her eyes were caked with blue eye-shadow. Her lips were terrifyingly scarlet.

Nell clenched her fists and felt repulsion and fury. This was the woman who’d yelled at customers who hadn’t eaten their greens. This woman had deposited secret cheques in her bank account so she could hide it from the taxman. And then run off with the wages she owed her. She had caused that awful afternoon at the bank when Nell had learned her account was empty. This woman had booked a church and a hotel without bothering to ask first if Nell had even wanted to marry her son. This woman was awful.

Nell turned and fled.

‘Nell,’ she heard the thick throaty cry, ‘Nell, what’s got into you? Come back.’

But Nell ran. Back to the Plaça de la Verge and there was Hamish standing with his hand clasped to his forehead looking first this way, then that way, stumbling back and forth not knowing where to go. She called his name.

He came to her and took her to him. ‘Where the hell have you been?’

‘Just for a walk to clear my head.’

He held her at arm’s length, scrutinising her with a concerned look on his face, ‘Are you all right? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’

‘I’m fine. I just needed to get back to you.’

He held her again. ‘Nell, you know I want to marry you. You know I … Well, you know—’

‘Yes, I know,’ Nell said.

Chapter Thirty-five

Go On, Say It

It was six years before they married. They’d procrastinated. There were so many other things to do. The hotel was busy from May to October, and then again at Christmas and New Year. At quiet times there were repairs to see to, accounts to update and bar stocks to check. They kept saying, ‘Next year, we’ll do it then. We’ll have a big party and invite the whole village. It’ll be fun.’

Then Nancy came along. Nell refused to walk down the aisle when pregnant. ‘I’d be waddling. Nobody wants to waddle down the aisle. We’ll do it later.’

Hamish said, ‘You said you wanted to get married before you had children. You wanted to do things in the right order.’

‘I did,’ said Nell. ‘But that was before I knew about waddling. I want to be a beautiful bride.’

But Nancy was followed by Ben, so it was the waddling excuse again. After that, Nell was busy helping in the hotel and looking after the two little ones. ‘I’ve no time. It’ll have to wait.’

In truth, she didn’t mind. She was happy with how things were. In summer she’d take the children to the beach, watch them play on the sand, stare into the rock pools and jump the waves as they rippled towards the shore. From time to time she’d see dolphins slip by, moving effortlessly several yards out to sea. They made her heart leap. ‘They’re a sign of good weather,’ Hamish told her. Sometimes she and Hamish would take the children up the long track to the forest. They’d find a spot where they could eat sandwiches and scan the horizon for deer. Every time they passed their kissing spot where they’d been snapped locked in an embrace they’d catch one another’s eye and smile. They had secrets. They had a history.

In winter the deer came down from the hills and wandered the hotel grounds looking for food. Nell loved to watch them. Sometimes the snow came so thick and deep, plodding to the log pile at the side of the house was tough going. The chill numbed her face and hands. Nell would complain bitterly about the biting cold and the endless whiteness of everything. ‘It’s a trial getting to the village and it’s only a step away.’ Yet, there was the beauty of it, the silence and the sudden isolation was a wonder. At times like this the hotel was empty as nobody could get through. Nell and Hamish would spend hours together when the kids were asleep, sitting by the fire, feet up, drinking tea, planning their summer and napping. Hamish thought napping with someone was the most intimate thing you could do. ‘It’s a trust thing,’ he said. ‘Slipping off into sleep feeling warm and relaxed, knowing you’ll wake together is calming. It’s comfortable. I like it.’

Nobody in the village bothered that the pair weren’t married. It was the way of things. Oh, at first there had been some gossip, but as time passed, they’d moved on to fresh sources of chit-chat and discussion. The two became ‘our Hamish and our Nell who can’t be bothered getting married’. This pleased Nell. It felt like she belonged.

Once she saw a newspaper article about Carol and Alistair. It was a feature on their new home, which was a delight.
Modern furnishings, but with an old-fashioned homey twist. Beautifully crafted tables and sofas from Italy mixed with junk shop finds make the Rutherford’s home a joy
. Carol had completed her university course, gained a degree and was planning to teach. Gosh, Nell had thought, who’d have thought it? She always seemed pretty thick to me. She hadn’t finished reading the article because some guests from America had arrived and she’d had to check them in. When she’d looked for the newspaper intending to finish reading about the two people from her past, she’d discovered that Hamish had used the paper to light the fire in the lounge. It was gone. Oh well, she’d thought. Doesn’t matter.